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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22784104">Not Even a Memory</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/pseuds/Cornerofmadness'>Cornerofmadness</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Hints of Brightwell, Hurt/Comfort, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:13:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,611</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22784104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/pseuds/Cornerofmadness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dani wants to comfort Malcolm after he comes out of surgery after what he endured at the hands of John Watkins. As he heals, Malcolm is mired in his dreams.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Not Even a Memory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/gifts">Brumeier</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>Disclaimer:</b> Not mine, Chris Fedak and Sam Sklaver owns it </p>
<p><b>Rating:</b> teen<br/><b>Notes:</b> written for  in comment_fic for the prompt of  Prodigal son, any, and the lyrics<br/>My mind's heavy and I can't sleep, not even a memory<br/>Is good enough to get me through the night, mmm<br/>I'm longing for the real thing, people who know the real me<br/>And all the ways to love me back to life (Keith Urban)</p>
<p>Also Malcolm’s statement in <i>Death’s Door</i> that coma patients don’t dream is actually debatable. Revived coma patients report dreaming and nightmares. Some EEGS suggest they do dream. And the coma here is medically induced which is a different sort.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>XXX</p>
<p>Malcolm trembled, his mind so weighted down he couldn’t sleep. That was nothing new. He’d struggled to sleep for years now. His mother drugged his tea. Jackie had given him warmed milk in the form of sugar-free hot chocolate, saying there wasn’t enough caffeine in it to work against the milk. She was right; there was barely any real chocolate in it. None of it worked. Melatonin, prescription pills, none worked well. He’d built a tolerance only to learn that the meds trapped him in his nightmares. </p>
<p>He had nothing to save him, not even a memory that was good enough to get him through the night. Malcolm prowled his loft, trying to find a way to peace. Nights like this he could feel the noose tightening around him, the fear creeping up his spine. These were the nights where he wondered if he’d make it through until morning. He just wanted to rest.</p>
<p>Malcolm jumped at the knock at the door. Who could it be at this time of night? It opened on its own before he could get to it. Malcolm’s breath caught as Eve walked through like an extra from <i>Carrie</i>. Blood poured down her body like a deluge. She held out her arms, gliding over to him in the space of a heart’s beat. Slices, deep and zigzagging crossed her torso. He had done this. With his kitchen knife. On his carpet. Oh, the thing he had become. She asked one wispy question, bloody bubbles birthing through the gash in her neck. “Why?”</p>
<p>His only answer was an incoherent scream.</p>
<p>XXX</p>
<p>Dani watched Bright sleep on the narrow hospital bed. No, not sleep. He was in a medically induced coma according to his doctor. He’d lost too much blood, his gut stitched up so they had loaded him with barbiturates to keep him quiet. His hand had been cast. She couldn’t look at the tubes like an angry octopus stabbing into his veins, into his nose and other places. NG tubes to feed him; blood snaking into his arm, some of it JT’s who was a match and insisted on donating. Antibiotics and other fluids also dripped into him. She knew he was being well cared for but this still hurt.  Mrs. Whitly was in the room across the hall with her daughter who’d been kept overnight with a concussion. On the other side of Malcolm’s bed Gil had the reclining chair all the way back, dead asleep. He’d been a machine, going the entire time Bright had been in Watkins’s hands. They all had but she was younger. She needed to keep watch.</p>
<p>She took Malcolm’s hand, the chill of it sending a shiver up her spine. She tucked it under the thin blanket and went out to the nurse’s station. A quick conversation later and one of them brought her a heated blanket and helped Dani swaddled Malcolm in it. He sighed softly, his eyes rolling behind his lids. Dani scowled, taking her seat next to his bed. She knew his dreams were horrible. Hell, she had knocked him out cold once over whatever the drugs had been making him see. What was in his mind now? Nothing good, not after being tortured.</p>
<p>Dani stroked his hair in spite of the fact it was still bloody and clumped from sweat. She did the only thing she could think of. She softly sang a lullaby her grandmother had taught her. He stilled, some of the tension leaving his body. He heard her. Dani was sure of it so she sang on.</p>
<p>XXX</p>
<p>He stood barefoot in the grass, sun on his face. Malcolm blinked into the blue, cloud-spotted sky. He could smell the salt of the ocean. He must be at his great grandmother’s place in Newport, Rhode Island. He had always loved the summer cottage. His mother proudly told them all about the Milton family history every time they came. His father didn’t always like to come here but when they did, he  had nothing but time for Malcolm and Ainsley. Malcolm liked staying in the cottage even better than going camping because it was all of them together. But that was so long ago and so much of it was a lie.</p>
<p>Had he come here from D.C.? He couldn’t remember. No, he wasn’t there anymore. The FBI was his past as well, and very little of it had been good. He was a square peg in a round hole. No, he fit even worse than that. Everyone knew his history. They all waited for him to become his father. He was well practiced at not losing his temper, most of the time but on the rare moments it escaped him, he suffered greatly. The avoidance, the shifting gazes, the stage-whispered musings about how he probably had a wooded acre filled with the dead. </p>
<p>All he wanted was a place where he fit in. <i>Is it too much to ask? All I want are people who know the real me?</i> That’s all he wanted. Gil’s face flashed in his mind. Oh, that’s right. He always had that place with Gil. Suddenly he remembered he lived in New York again. He had his team, the one that understood him, at long last. Edrisa’s bubbling appreciation of him, JT’s dry-witted, begrudging acceptance of him. And Dani’s quiet, understated friendship. They were friends right?  No, she said they weren’t there yet but that had been some time ago. She was always so <i>kind</i> to him. She told him she didn’t believe he was broken beyond repair. It was one of the things he held on to when Watkins had him chained to the floor. Had he told her that her words had carried him through? Did she know he thought of her as a friend? Was he even free? Was all this a dream and he was still somewhere in the dark with nothing but the hot bare light Watkins had blinded him with to keep him company?</p>
<p>This felt real. Silky grass under his toes, salt spray in the air and he heard something. Someone was singing so sweetly it brought tears to his eyes. Dashing them away, Malcolm glanced down. His pale narrow feet looked like a Jackson Pollock painting in red. Blood, oh god, it was his blood all over his feet. He was dying.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to die without telling Dani I’m her friend,” he whispered.</p>
<p>“I know that, Bright.”</p>
<p>He whipped around. There at the end of the estate’s yard, where it dropped over to the cliff walk and then to the sea, Dani stood. The wind caught her long hair tossing it. Her dress billowed behind her. In the back of his mind someone whispered this was just like the lurid covers of his nanny’s romance novels. Could it be real? He couldn’t imagine Dani in a flowing Renaissance-styled dress like this in a peculiar shade of light blue. <i>Oh, it’s the color of my eyes.</i> He took two steps towards her and suddenly the blood was gone from his feet. Malcolm raced across the yard. He collapsed before he made it to Dani’s side.</p>
<p>She strolled over to him and knelt in the grass with him. </p>
<p>“Are you my friend?” he whispered, staring up at her, begging her to say yes.</p>
<p>“You wanted me to be so I am. I don’t trust easily but you’ve earned it.” She cupped his scruffy chin.</p>
<p>He smiled, tears trickling down his cheeks. “Thank you. You’re special, Dani. You know all the ways to love me back to life.”</p>
<p>Dani laughed. “I said friends, Bright. Don’t go crazy.”</p>
<p>“Friendship is just another form of love,” he assured her. “Stay with me.”</p>
<p>“I’m right here.”</p>
<p>Malcolm sighed, shutting his eyes as he stretched out in the grass. He let the sun warm him as Dani sat next to him, picking up her song once more.</p>
<p>XXX</p>
<p>Dani had run out of lullabys. Gil hadn’t stirred where he slept on the other side of Malcolm’s bed but Malcolm had begun dreaming again. This time he seemed mostly calm. Maybe he was thinking of something good for a change. She slipped his hand into hers again. He’d begun to get chilled and shaking once more so she got yet another heated blanket for him. The nurses told her that because he’d lost so much blood and had been kept somewhere frigid and damp, he was likely to remain cold for a good long while. </p>
<p>As she tucked another hot blanket around him, Malcolm moaned softly, his eyelids fluttering open. Dani cupped his chin, shushing him softly. “It’s okay, Bright. You’re safe. I’m right here.”</p>
<p>He looked at her but she wasn’t sure he saw  her. He was out of it and still under the effects of everything the doctors had given him. He moaned again, so pain filled it tore at her heart. </p>
<p>“Bright,” Dani grabbed his hand. “<i>Malcolm</i>.” At that he seemed to focus on her. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me. You’re safe. I promise. So are your mother and sister. Everyone’s safe and Watkins is under arrest. You can let go and relax. Just sleep now. You need to rest. Do you understand.”</p>
<p>He squeezed her fingers and Dani sat back down. “Just rest and I’ll be here with you.”</p>
<p>“You sang,” he whispered and she smiled. Before she could even say yes, his grip on her hand slackened and he was back under.</p>
<p>“Sleep well, Malcolm.” She tucked the blanket under his chin and Dani sang another lullaby. She watched him sleep until finally she too slept peacefully.</p>
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